


A Mutual Agreement

by LazyBaker



Series: To Live as a No-Maj: A Wizard's Attempt [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Anal Sex, Bottom Original Percival Graves, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Top Credence Barebone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8910172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/pseuds/LazyBaker
Summary: Where Credence found himself feeling too many things in his deviant relationship with an older gentleman bachelor, one Percival Graves.-[An AU where Credence gets with Graves with no knowledge of the existence of the wizarding world]





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a short little thing that turned into a bigger thing.
> 
> To Know:
> 
> -Takes place before the film 'Fantastic Beasts'  
> -Credence is unaware the wizarding world actually exists or that Graves himself is a wizard  
> -Credence is of legal age

Today was the kind of day where Credence missed summer. The entire week had been one of melancholy wishing for the unrelenting heat that was New York city in June.

It was going to rain as it had done for the past three days. The clouds fat and unwelcoming, drooping with heavy bellies in the sky.

But today would be different. The cold would be just as chilling, but it would not extinguish what plans Credence had and the warmth they brought to him, no matter how layered in guilt and shame they were.

With the leaflets handed out and the church doors opened for Ma to usher the children out, Credence stopped to make sure Modesty had a heavier coat for the day. A grey wool one hidden under the floorboards to prevent the other needy hands from taking it. It had been Chastity’s when she had been younger. 

He helped Modesty put it on over her lighter jacket, her hands were already chapped and pink from the morning cold. He buttoned it up to her neck, wishing he had a pair of mittens to give her. 

It was easy to busy himself with getting her ready for the day, not letting his thoughts stray to far to what he had been trying his best to avoid thinking about all week. 

If he let himself, he would surely think of nothing else and his head would be so filled with such obscenities that Ma would only have to glance at him to know. The risk was too great.

“Why are you always so excited on Tuesdays?” Modesty said, curious and innocent to what she was asking and what Credence had done and kept doing. 

He could not tell her. The guilt that swelled inside of him, percolating with fear was his alone. To share it with her, even hinting, would be abominable. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your face is always so red on Tuesdays. Like you’re happy.” Modesty pouted. 

“It’s cold.” 

“You’re no fun.”

Credence smiled, a little thing that flittered away as fast as it came. “No, I’m really not.”

-  
  
It did rain. Hard and unrepentant. Credence’s clothes stuck to him, his hat began to bend with the weight of hours of water. He found shelter under a few store awnings before he was shooed away by managers and store owners, veins pulsing on their foreheads at his loitering.

The sting of shame that would have come though for his own unlawfulness was too busy gnawing at him for the image of Graves’ soft eyes, how his hands would be on him soon. Warmth would come after days, years, an entire lifetime of endless frost. 

And this was what kept him not minding the rain too terribly. The cold would soon be displaced by heat and want.

The hours passed and the leaflets disintegrated in his hands so badly to the point the ink began to bleed and the words blurred together. The papers seemed to melt. At some point he had looked down, his fingers numb with cold had not noticed he was no longer holding a stack of thick papers, but wilted torn fragments that slid to the ground with every drop of rain.

He disposed of them in a nearby bin. They were too far gone for anyone to recognize the paper, but he did pause to search the streets around him and to make sure none of the church children were there to see him. 

Ma would have his hide if she knew.

He recognized no one though and the leaflets were tossed. When his hands were empty, he always felt lighter. Whether he handed them out or not it was simply a good feeling to be done, at least for the day. 

With the rain, it was harder to tell the time, but it didn’t matter when it was. It was Tuesday and when it was Tuesday his chest began to burn with such brightness that no matter if it were snowing and he would have to walk a dozen blocks in four feet of snow and hail, that lit fire would keep him warm.

He would head to Graves’ early.   
  
-  
  
The spare key was hidden in the alley besides Graves’ building, under the third brick in the rubbish pile stacked along the exterior and behind the metal dumpster. A small hiding place that had yet to be disturbed or found out in the past few weeks. Little cobwebs were beginning to form on the bottom bricks. It stunk of garbage, an acrid scent that clung despite the rain, but was cleaner and nicer, even, than any part outside—and even some of the inside—of the church where Credence lived. 

The key was small, golden, and had an odd engraving he’d never seen before on any key. It felt heavy in his hand, heavier than it should be. It seared with the cold, burning along the new welts on his palm. No longer bleeding, but still raw and just beginning to heal.

Credence stacked the bricks back as they were. It was an imposition to do this, to hide Graves’ key in the mud of an alley—the filth of his own hands. He clutched it to his chest, taking a moment to press the key hard against the fleshier part of his hand until it left an indent.

He wanted to keep the key, have something of Graves’ with him in the days they didn’t see each other and knew he couldn’t. Ma would find it. If not her, then Chastity or Modesty, who would, no matter if their intent was good or bad, tell Ma. Secrets were hard to keep and Credence could only afford to hold so many without it becoming obvious that he was hiding not just one little something, but many awful damning somethings. 

The indent faded on his palm. He pressed the key to his lips and placed it into his pocket.  
  
-  
  
Graves lived on the tenth floor of a building Credence had once only ever walked on the opposite side of the street from. It was immersed in the wealthy and high class of society. The sort of place Credence would never dare step one foot near.

Inside there was an elevator, a big golden thing where women with real fur coats and jewels sparkling along their necks and men with precise haircuts and ambitions came and went by. Credence could hardly even think to glance in its direction, he didn't belong in something so grand for people who were more remarkable than he could ever imagine.

After all, this was where Graves lived and slept and—well—Credence stumbled, flustering himself again. He hurried along, not wanting to catch any more attention.

He took the stairs. It was a long walk up, but by the time his foot hit the tenth floor he had warmed up and his clothes had stopped dripping so much. He paused a moment to catch his breath and could not excuse his panting or the way his heart stomped in rapid succession all on the stairs.

Impatiently and with no real hope it would make much of a difference, Credence straightened the cuffs of his jacket and then combed his hair, which was frizzy and messy, in rough short strokes with his fingers. There was mud on his shoes and pant legs, even some spattered on his cuffs. But this he could not fix.

Credence knew he looked haphazard. He was and there was no other way for him to be. But he tried and hoped Graves would not be disappointed. 

Perhaps he would use Graves' bathroom to make himself more presentable, he shouldn't be home for a while yet, still at work--doing, well, Credence didn't know. The scars all over his body said it was something dangerous or perhaps he had fought in the war. Graves never liked to speak about what he did and beyond that first time, Credence could not bring himself to ask again. 

How he could afford to live here and still want to--with Credence of all people--was so outside of his ability to cohere.

Graves' door was a beacon and Credence half ran and half shuffled his ay to it and fumbled in his pocket for the key, excitement still an unusual feeling that left him bereft of all the control he had cultivated since he was a child.

"You Graves' boy?" 

Credence jumped, spun around and looked to his left. An older man in his seventies, wearing a white undershirt with suspenders digging into his shoulders was staring at him. He had a cigarette dangling from his lips. 

Credence kept his eyes on the man's bare feet. If he looked up and caught the man's eyes, somehow he would  _know_.

"Sir?"

The man huffed. "You his kid?" He said slowly, acting as if Credence were daft.

It was an easy enough lie, though a different sort of shame curled around him at the thought.  _His kid. Graves' boy._

In many ways he was.

"Yes, sir."

The man came closer, putting his hand on Credence's shoulder and Credence fought not to flinch from the abrupt touch. "Tell your pa he's a son of a bitch, but I'm gonna miss him all the same." 

Credence nodded. The man slapped his back and left.  
  
-  
  
Miss him? Was Graves leaving? Credence's hands shook as he unlocked Graves' door, between his uneven breathing, the hammering of his blood in his ears, and the metal of the key in his jittery hands unlocking the door, it was a mystery no one was yelling at him to keep it down making such a ruckus.

He couldn't breathe. He could barely get the key into the lock.

Before Credence could put his hand on the knob, the door swung opened. 

Graves was wet and steam seemed to come off of him in rivulets. He smelled strongly of soap and aftershave, and was wearing only his sheer black robe that came to a sudden stop at his knee. Thick chest hair and the insinuating darkness between his legs showing as a shadow through the light fabric. Scars roped around his torso and arms and legs. He held a slender stick in one hand that he quickly shoved into the pocket of his robe. 

This was all enough of a shock for Credence to lose all capability of thought and speech and breath. He nearly dropped his key.

Graves pulled Credence inside, locking the door behind them.

"Somethings wrong." He said. His hands ran up and down Credence's arms and settled to circle along the base of his neck. Warm from the shower, they felt like heated irons on Credence's skin.

He shook his head. Closed his eyes. If he looked, if Graves could see his eyes, it would be over. No barrier for Credence to hide behind.

"Tell me, Credence." Graves said. But the words would not come and Graves seemed to understand. “You’ll catch pneumonia like this. I’m going to light the hearth and I want you to go hang your clothes on the shower railing."

It was never a question. Graves spoke and Credence would follow. That was what they did and Credence would have it no other way. 

With his head bowed he found his way to the bathroom, leaving a trail of muddy foot prints behind.  
  
-  
  
Graves' home was filled with dark leather furniture softer than Modesty's dimpled cheeks, a bathroom lined in pristine white tile and a shower and bathtub long enough to fit Credence’s lanky legs, tall ceilings that looked and could not possibly fit in the building with every wall lined with so many books the few windows would be a shock of light if not for the sheer and maroon velvet curtains. 

And yet—

It didn't feel lived in. More like a place to store things and occasionally sleep. The only signs anyone spent time there, lived there, was the book lying open on the chaise lounge and the droplets of water trailing Graves that led to the bathroom.

It was so different from the church or anywhere Credence had ever been before though, an inner lining of warmth that smelled strongly of Graves. A certain masculinity to the entire environment that felt like finger tips walking steadily up his spine to grip his neck familiarly. A place he didn't want to leave and was never able to stay.

Credence shut the bathroom door, still shy about Graves seeing him, and stripped his clothes off quickly. His foot caught on his pant leg and he tripped almost hitting his head on the white porcelain basin of the sink had he not caught himself in time.

Graves’ straight razor was still wet. Credence picked it up and tapped his finger along the blade. It was sharp and although Credence had touched it gentle it bit into his skin. He set it down quickly, just as Graves had left it.

He didn't look at his reflection, made it a point to keep his back to the mirror as he undressed and hung even his socks on the shower railing. He placed his shoes upside down in the bathtub.

The muddy footprints made him recoil. There was no rag or mop to clean them up. The idea of leaving his mess was unthinkable and he thought for a moment to use his own shirt. Perhaps his pants, already muddied as they were. 

He stopped himself. Graves would have supplies somewhere. The mud could wait, he supposed. 

The cold tiles of the bathroom had Credence's teeth clacking together, shivers coursing through him now that his clothes were gone. It was nice to not be wearing the damp fabric anymore, but, he started to blush, he was naked and Graves was out there practically wearing nothing as well.

There was only one reason why he was here, why Graves would ever allow someone like him into his home--into his--Credence began to sweat despite the cold, his palms becoming clammy. This was all still unnerving. He doubted he would ever get used to any of it.

Credence groaned then muffled his mouth with both hands. He was hard and there was no way of hiding it. His cock erect and poking his belly. There was no towel or extra set of clothes. 

He opened the door slightly, expecting to peek out and see where Graves was, to grasp some inkling to what he should do, but as he peered out he was met with Graves hardly half a foot away, looking back at him.

Graves pushed the door open, Credence's hand falling to his side. Graves' dark eyes took their time looking him over, heated and leaving Credence twitching in their wake as Graves worked his way back up to Credence's blushing face. 

There was no time to cover himself. Graves reached out and grabbed Credence's hand, pulling him into the living room where the muddy foot prints were gone and the fireplace was lit and on the coffee table were two mugs of--Credence sniffed, surprised--hot chocolate.

“I’m sorry.” Credence said urgently. He could not stand that Graves had cleaned up his mess for him.

Graves stopped and turned to him. “You’re sorry?”

“For the mud. It was thoughtless of me.”

“Merely a spot.” Graves said, dismissing the mess that were he anywhere else Credence would have received a scolding, and cupped Credence’s cheek. “No need for any upset.”

“Sir—“

“Shush, not another word on the matter.” Graves pulled Credence further into the living room. “I thought you might like something sweet to warm you. Sit." Graves sat on the sofa not letting go of Credence’s hand.

"Sir, I'm," Credence cut himself off not quite able to reference aloud that he was not only naked but aroused. The heat from the hearth twisting lazily around his twitching cock. Under his own embarrassment he began to hunch further inwards.

Graves just arched one brow at him as if to say ' _so?_ '. He nodded his head to the seat beside him. "Sit."

-

“You finished handing out your leaflets?”

“Yes. Sort of. I thought you’d be at work.”

“Finished early as well.”

Credence drank his mug of hot chocolate quicker than he would have liked, hardly tasting any of it. Graves handed him the second mug and when he was about to politely decline, he brought the mug to Credence’s lips, insisting. It was rich and mixed with real milk and real chocolate, Credence could not think of anything tastier. Nothing like the watered down version Ma would make them on Christmas.

But it was not the hot drink or the fire that thawed Credence and ran the cold out of him completely. Graves held Credence’s hand in his own, turning it this way and that, running his fingers along the new welts Ma had left.

His touch burned through Credence.  _There was nothing more wonderful_ , he thought and knew without any doubt,  _than being with Graves and having his attention_. Being touched by such a wonderful, admirable man was as damning as every feeling and thought and hope Graves gave him.

It was peaceful and quiet between. The sounds of the rain and the fireplace in harmony. Credence began to not mind his own nudity, relished in the way Graves’ bare knee touched his.

"Your mother again?" Graves said quietly, his voice hardly louder than the crackling of the wood slowly burning in the fireplace.

Credence nodded. "It doesn't hurt, really."

Graves grunted, displeased. He wore a face Credence never liked to see or be the reason for, he held his legs tightly pressed together and his free arm over his groin to cover himself. Shamefully he was still hard and his mind was beginning to lose track of anything other than the way Graves' thumb lingered and pressed into his palm, causing sharp little sparks of pain.

"Your neighbor," Credence said, stammering only slightly. "He said he was going to miss you."

Graves' grip on his hand tightened. Credence could feel him looking at him, though he could not find the nerve to look back.

"And?"

"And you're a-a son of a bitch. That's-that's what he said." Credence's shoulders reached his ears, unused to cursing and especially saying something so crude to Graves. But Graves huffed out a small laugh.

"Maroni is a sentimental old fool." Graves said. Credence waited for him to explain, but the moment passed and it became horribly apparent that no explanation was going to come without some prodding.

Tentatively, Credence spoke. ”Why is he going to miss you?"

Graves didn't answer him, he brought Credence's hand up to his lips and kissed along his knuckles and then turning his palm, he kissed every new welt, teeth scraping along a particularly deep one causing Credence to grunt, the pain a quick shock that had his hips jerking up.

"Later." Graves said with finality, his other hand coming to settle on both of Credence's bony knees.

Not now.  _Later_. The bottom of Credence's stomach dropped.  _Later_  meant there was something Credence was not going to like. 

That the old man had been right. 

Already, Credence was beginning to miss.  
  
-  
  
Graves set Credence's hand on his thigh, Credence’s finger tips just skirting the hem of his short robe. His focus drifted lower to under the sheer fabric to where Graves' neatly trimmed pubic hair lay and his soft flaccid prick. If Credence moved his hand just a little he would be able to touch him. The thought pushed all the air out of his chest, nearly knocking him off of the sofa.

From under the coffee table Graves pulled out a white metal case. He opened it and extracted a small squat unlabeled jar.

"Don't move." Graves said as if Credence would ever pull away from him voluntarily. He unscrewed the lid, dipping his fingers into the creamy white ointment inside and spread it on Credence's palm. It felt cool on his skin and smelled vaguely of peppermint. 

Graves' hand hovered above his own, a new tingling, soothing sensation sprung and spread along his entire palm to his fingertips and up his arm. Graves did the same to Credence's other hand which he pulled at to set on his lap as well, saying nothing of Credence’s erection now in full view, leaking against his thigh.

“It’s a new remedy. It should help you heal quickly.” Graves said.

“You’re very kind, Mister Graves. Thank you.”

“Hardly.”

Graves put the lid back on the jar and set it on the coffee table. Credence's palms were left slick from the ointment, the tingling feeling gone. Graves held Credence's wrists loosely in both hands, thumbs stroking along his veins.

"I'm very happy you came here early.” He said, his voice gone husky and deep, leaning in until their knees touched and their foreheads pressed together. Credence swallowed, nerves and excitement tangled up into a knot. “What would you like to do?”

“Sir?”

“Anything, Credence. All you have to do is tell me.” 

“I, well.” Credence licked his lips, lashes fluttering as Graves’ hot breath washed over him. “Whatever you want to do, Mister Graves.”

It wasn’t the answer Graves wanted from the way his lips twitched into a frown, but it was the truth. If Graves wanted to twist and wrangle him into Hell, it didn’t matter  _how_  just as long as it was Graves.

”Be good, then.” Graves said, leaning forward to kiss the corner of Credence’s lips. “And don't get the ointment on the leather, my boy."  
  
-  
  
Their conversations were often quiet things, Credence having always been soft spoken and adept at picking up any change in temperament. But Graves was a different sort of quiet. One with authority and confidence in how he moved and spoke. He didn’t need many words, not even with someone like Credence.

And this was no different. Graves on top of him, his robe pulled apart by the eager bite of Credence’s teeth, his hand pulling Credence into his body--steady, steady, steady and not one wrong move as heat surrounded and clenched his cock.

Graves was experienced. He knew what he wanted and knew how to get it and Credence was simply lucky enough to somehow be chosen. For some reason he would not ever understand, Graves had picked him, Credence, who was inferior in every way. To be deep inside such a great man-- 

It made no sense.

“Stop thinking.” Graves said. He growled against the skin of his neck and Credence saw a beast in heat, ready to be rutted and mated, pulsing with need that rubbed along Credence’s bared stomach and chest.

His backside stuck to the leather of the couch, his feet scrabbling and heels pushing against the plush ornate rug as Graves straddled him, thick thighs clenched tightly along his sides as he pushed himself up braced on the back of the couch and slammed back down, engulfing the entirety of Credence’s cock.

There was not an inch of him that was cold anymore. He was burning from the inside out and back, an endless cycle of damning heat.

He buried his face in Graves’ chest, nuzzling against his hair and searching to hear if Graves’ heart was beating as wilding as his own. His cheek brushed by Graves’ nipple and he turned to suckle on him, moaning at how hard the nub grew under his tongue and preening when Graves moaned and moved a hand to the back of his head, nails scouring through his hair, encouraging him.

The man, the greatest of all men, was made of burning coal. Graves was the culmination of every dirty desire that bled its way inside of Credence, dyeing his marrow, the damned souls showing themselves in the tight grip of his thighs, the slick welcoming vice of his ass, and the worshipping Credence so desperately yearned to do was held captive by the ointment on his palms that kept his hands crossed above his head, unwilling to sully Graves or what was his.

Graves sighed above him, his brows lax and his mouth hanging open just far enough for the shiny pink wetness of his tongue to peek through. Credence’s hips jerked up as Graves shoved himself back onto Credence’s prick, causing Graves to grunt and sigh against him. Always keeping that steady slow, slow pace that would inevitably pull everything from Credence.

Graves kissed the shell of his ear, his hands moving from the back of the sofa to settle on Credence’s shoulders and then up to wrap around Credence’s neck, his thumbs moving along with his Adam’s Apple as Credence swallowed.

“Mister graves, sir, I’m going to--I’m--” Credence said, that powerful coil inside of himself tightening to spring from him forcing the words to come quickly. Graves stopped, hips canted just so that only the very tip of Credence was still locked inside of him.

Whining from the back of his throat, Credence could not help how his eyes fell shut, his entire body clenching tightly.

“Breathe, Credence. Breathe.” Graves said. He petted at Credence’s face and Credence after a moment found his breath again, his body unlocking inch by inch until he was once again melting under Graves and into the sofa. 

“Open your eyes.” Graves said and cupped the crown of his head once more and yanked at his hair in one hard pull, canting Credence’s neck back until he was eye to eye with Graves. He squirmed under his intense stare, feeling once again that rise that meant his undoing. “When you’re inside of me, you will look at me, Credence.”

Credence could not nod, Graves’ hold on him was too tight. “Yes.” He stammered. 

Graves smiled kindly down at him, a small tilt to his lips that meant the entire world to Credence and was felt all the more as he leaned in and kissed the very center of Credence’s head and slid back down, stuffing himself with Credence once more.

It was difficult to not succumb to the slow rhythm of Graves’ hips, how every so often he would grind down, pushing and pushing, cock leaving a wet trail along Credence’s stomach with every movement--so red and terribly full just for Credence--his hair falling in wet locks in front of his face in such a way that it was torture to not brush it aside, to feel Graves’ sweat between his fingers.

Credence almost came twice more. Graves stopped each time and kissed him on each cheek, wet and lingering and he would chase after him both times, when Credence managed to abstain. 

His arms had grown stiff and pressure began to build along his joints as his hands numbed. He flexed his fingers and touched at his palms to find that they were still sticky and still unfit to touch Graves.

Credence was helpless, a mass of boneless need and swollen hard cock that was on the very edge of painful as Graves ruthlessly fucked and fucked himself up and down, his asshole a tight unforgiving grip on Credence’s entire being, the meat of Graves’ muscular thighs melting and transforming him into something molten and eternal until Credence could no longer find his tongue and form the words to warn Graves as his orgasm thrashed inside of him, a terrible beast that burst into the dark heat inside of Graves.  
  
-  
  
Graves held him to his chest as Credence trembled, softening inside of him. He kissed Credence softly, mindful that every touch ricocheted into a powerful full bodied twitch. His mind was fuzzy, as if he were experiencing a dream. 

He rubbed at the base of Credence’s neck. “Better?”

“Thank you, Mister Graves.”

Graves laughed. “So polite.”

Graves pulled away, gently pushing Credence back so he was resting against the sofa and rose to his knees. Looming over Credence as he took himself in hand and pushed the head of his cock against Credence’s lips.

This was not something Credence was very skillful at. Not at all like Graves. But he tried like he always did, earnest in his attempts to prove himself to Graves in every way he could. He opened his mouth wide, sticking his tongue out just a bit to cover his teeth and took a deep breath as Graves pushed in, trying to remember with a cloudy head what Graves did all those times he had taken Credence like this. 

Graves held him still, holding him by his hair and with his other hand he traced with his thumb around the stretch of Credence’s lips. How he must look. Not at all like the elegant form Graves would inhabit. Used and wretched, he knew. 

“Grip my thighs--there you are. Good, Credence. Very good.” Graves said, moaning as Credence dug his fingers just below the swell of Graves’ ass, glad to lower his hands and for the circulation to return, his arms feeling just as muddy as his head. “I’ve been thinking about this--you--all day. God.” Credence preened at his words, moaning around Graves’ cock.

Graves fucked Credence’s mouth in that same steady rhythm, pushing into his mouth with slow measured thrusts that went deeper and deeper. Credence sucking and rubbing his tongue as he tried to follow Graves’ rhythm until he hit the back of Credence’s throat. He gagged and Graves pulled back before pushing deeper, his hand like steel as he kept Credence in place.

He held Credence against him, nose almost buried in Graves’ pubic hair. His hands tightened on Graves’ thighs. Breath coming up short. Tears welled up and spilled in a blink. He swallowed around Graves and preened when he moaned.

Graves pulled out completely. Thick ropes of saliva connected Credence’s mouth with Graves’ twitching dick that smeared seed as Graves rubbed his cock up and down Credence’s cheek, following the trail his tears had made.

“All right?” Graves said.

Credence nodded and then tried to speak. His voice raspy and he thought with only some anxiety, that this was what will tip Ma off. Her son was a cocksucker. A demonic invert. Worse than any witch could ever be.

“Yes. Please, Mister Graves.”

Graves, flushed and sweat dripping down his entire body, robe sticking to his skin, nodded and brought his cock back to Credence’s lips. He did not wait for the initial push, rather he jumped first, opening his mouth and taking in as much of Graves as he could. 

“Credence.” Graves said, surprised. His voice wavering. And Credence so happy to have done this to him and with his head still high from his orgasm, moved his hands up, squeezing Graves’ ass cheeks and gently touching his asshole, still wet with lubricant and dripping Credence’s seed, twitching at his gentle prodding which turned into a steady push inwards. The audacity of what he’d done combined with Graves’ using his mouth was thrilling. 

Graves’ hips stuttered and Credence looked up, the sight so unreal and sublime as Graves bent and pushed his ass back into Credence’s fingers, his cock falling from Credence’s lips, pushing his fingers deeper inside. He fisted Credence’s hair with both of his hands and came in thick spurts all over Credence’s face and hair and chest.

He stayed still and Credence didn’t dare stop the movement of his fingers, enraptured by Graves shaking above him, his stomach fluttering, every muscle of his body tense in his orgasm. 

 _I did that_ , he thought in wonder as Graves’ hot cum dripped down and onto his lashes.

-  
  
Graves helped Credence up off the sofa, his backside peeling from the leather with an embarrassing sound, leading him by the hand once again into the kitchen to wash up by the sink. Graves wiped them both down with the kitchen towel, the cool dampness causing Credence to more than once startle as Graves cleaned between his legs. 

This was his favorite part, the pleasant limbo when his mind was no longer preoccupied with his body’s needs and before the thoughts of what his Ma would say if she knew any of what he and Graves do together invaded and ruined. He was awake and present and with Graves whose hair was only ever this much of a mess post-sex and who smelled like Credence, or maybe Credence smelled like him now, getting to see the sweat on his temple or the sweat beading through his chest hair, knowing what he tasted like and knowing what it felt like to press his face into the thick fur patch covering his heart, knowing he was the reason for such dishevelment from the Graves the outside world saw.

It was selfish of him to covet Graves like this, to feel such pride. But he did and he could not contain himself or his shy smile at how Graves was padding the corner of the towel along his lips. 

“You’re such a tall boy when you aren’t afraid. Very handsome.” Graves said, softly in their little bubble, the words floating by Credence like a warm pat on his cheek. 

Credence bowed his head. Compliments were such an odd thing for him, he could not quite take any of them with much seriousness. 

Graves’ fingers trailed lightly down the tendons of Credence’s neck to his shoulder to the underside of his chin, urging him to look with the slightest pressure. His eyes were so earnest. Credence was sure he would melt and disappear right then.   
  
-  
  
Credence had meant to leave, not wanting to impose. But the question reared itself again now that it was officially  _later_.

“Why will I miss you?” Credence said. He could not look at Graves for very long. He stared, instead, at the tiled floor of the kitchen, at the redness of his toes. The oddity of standing nude before the perfect man and not crumbling in shame.

Graves folded the kitchen towel and set it on the counter. He placed his hand on Credence’s side.

“Later.”

“It is  _later_ , though, Mister Graves.”

Graves sighed. “After a nap. And lunch.”

“Your neighbor thought I was your son.” Credence flushed. The hand on his waist tightened.

“Are you trying to ask if I’m married? If I have children?”

Credence began to hunch and covered his mouth. He shook his head. 

“Let me put you to bed and let me feed you. After,” Graves said patiently, “We’ll talk.”

-

Graves’ bedroom was much like the rest of the apartment, luxurious and rich in textures and colors, and orderly in every way. The bed was big with simple maroon and white sheets and blankets, all fine and amazingly soft.

Credence dozed, not being able to fully sleep. He was irritated Graves kept putting off answering him and mortified at his own arrogance. As if Graves owed him an explanation.

He pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping himself in the sheets and blankets and pressed his face into the pillows, inhaling Graves' scent, imagining him lying beside him. It calmed him and soon he drifted off.

When he woke, his clothes were folded and dry at the foot of the bed. Credence quickly dressed and noticed something odd. The mud on his pants and jacket were gone, not any sign they had been dirtied. His socks looked a few shades whiter than before and his shoes were shined so spotless he could almost see his reflection.

On his way to the kitchen, he peered inside the bathroom. His muddy footprints were gone as well. The tile as spotless as ever.

He flexed his hands and saw that his palms had healed. Not one welt remained. 

Graves had dressed in a sheer white shirt with his sleeves rolled up, the buttons half undone and a pair of grey slacks. His feet were bare. He was looking out the window above the sink, sipping a cup of coffee. On the counter beside him was the stick he had carried earlier. 

Like this, with his back turned and the paleness of his slender neck against the strong width of his shoulders and the smallness of his toes, he looked more vulnerable than when he was naked and panting above Credence. 

Heat once again made its home inside of him and he was happy to have the cover of his clothes back.

On the table were two plates of steak and roasted potatoes and green beans. Credence looked to the window to check that, yes, it was still raining, the sound of it not just an echo in his head. Somehow it was the same grey it had been when he’d arrived.

"How long have I been asleep?"

His voice must have given away just how panicked he was because Graves quickly set his mug down and guided Credence to a seat at the table.

"Not even an hour." Graves held up his watch and showed Credence the time. It was not even two in the afternoon.

"'You made all this? Just now?"

“Of course.” Graves said, his tone a bit off as if he were asking a question. He circled the table, bracing his hands on the back of the chair to Credence’s right. 

"You're amazing, Mister Graves."

“Taste it before you start in on the compliments.” Graves said. “Want a drink?”

“All right.” Credence said. 

Graves was already moving to the bar cabinet, pulling out two glasses and a fine glass decanter of something dark and golden. He set the glasses on the table and began to pour before Credence had responded. 

“Whiskey.” He said and handed Credence a glass. In his own he poured nearly twice as much. 

Politely, Credence held the tumbler to his mouth, sniffing it at first. He was unused to drinking, never having had the opportunity at the church nor the money to seek it out elsewhere. He was unsure if he genuinely enjoyed the perfume-like taste or the way it burned his throat as he swallowed or if he liked it because Graves had been the one to give him the taste.

Graves sat heavily, sighing. He didn’t sip his whiskey like Credence did. His intent seemed to be quantity based as he swallowed the entire thing in two long gulps and set the glass down gently on the table, not refilling it but turning it around again and again. 

Credence had never seen Graves like this. He opened his mouth to thank him for his clothes, to ask, but Graves spoke, now looking at Credence, his eyes suddenly worn and tired. 

“I’m leaving for Germany in the morning.” 

 _Oh_.

“Oh.” 

“You won’t ask me for how long I’ll be away?”

“I don’t want to pry.”

“I want you to.”

Credence’s voice cracked. “How long will you be gone, Mister Graves?”

“Two months. Most likely three.”

 _Months_. Almost one hundred days.

Credence’s hands fell to his lap, his fingers twisting themselves together. His throat began to close up and his vision began to blur behind a new round of tears.

He pushed his chair back, appetite gone. The sound of the wooden legs scraping on the tiles made him flinch. He thought he might vomit and he would despise himself more if he did so in front of Graves. “I--I should leave. You must have so much packing--so many things to do.” 

Graves grabbed his hand, keeping him from leaving.

“Look at me.” Graves said, but when Credence kept his head lowered and turned from him, Graves slid from his chair and kneeled on the floor beside him. “Credence.”

Credence wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, hating how his throat was refusing to work. He looked at Graves on his knees in alarm and tugged at Graves’ wrist to pull him up, but he was immovable and instead Graves pulled Credence down to sit on the floor as well. 

“Stay.”

“I am, Mister Graves.” 

Graves looked pained. “No, I mean. Stay. Here, while I’m gone.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You do, you just don’t want to.” Graves said. He cupped Credence’s face, his thumbs wiping his tears. Shameful. That’s what Credence was. A weak heinous little cretin. 

“Sir, I couldn’t.”

“Why? The rent is paid for. I’ll have groceries delivered every week. You’d want for nothing.”

“That’s too much, I can’t—”

“Your sister? The little one?” Credence nodded. “Bring her too. I have a spare room she can call her own.”

“I can’t think.”

“What is there to think about?”

There was so much to think about, how could Graves see this as something so simple. It was monumental. A shift in the earth. 

“How would I explain any of this? Modesty will be confused. People will talk. They’ll know about us and we’ll--“

“They won’t.” Graves said firmly dismissing the idea, the potential end they could have. “A small lie, that’s all. Tell her you found a blood relative. An uncle. A father. That he wants to take care of his kin.”

“Ma,” Credence started but Graves would have none of it.

“You’ll never see her again. Never.”

 _You can’t promise that_. 

But he could. Graves was the most—Credence could not even think of the word that would perfectly encapsulate how great a man Graves was. How capable and unlike Credence he was. He knew there could not be a word powerful enough.

Still. 

He couldn’t believe it. Not any of it. The proposal was so ludicrous that it was properly insane. To never see Ma or Chastity again. Never to sleep in that cold room in the church or stand on the corner of the streets handing out leaflets he hardly believed in.  _To leave the church_. Ridiculous. But Credence wanted so badly to believe every word Graves said. 

“Don’t make me worry, Credence. I won’t be able to bear it.” Graves said and leaned towards him until their foreheads touched, his palms covering Credence’s ears as if he could block all the doubts from his mind. 

“Modesty. You’ll really let her stay?”

“I’ll treat her as my own blood.”

Credence breathed shakily, digging his hands into Graves' shirt.

 

**Author's Note:**

> -I found the idea of Graves not knowing how long no-maj cooking takes to cook to be believable very lovely and had to include it  
> -Graves is THE power bottom of the 20th century, true fact  
> -Graves loves sheer everything  
> -Credence is the best big bro he can be in his situation
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com)


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